Detective Morgan creeped me out with his bad blond comb over and polyester tie, but he was nice, sort of. He didn’t ask a lot of questions at first, and he let me go at my own pace. In a voice that didn’t seem quite like my own, I told the story.

The story of how I’d woken up in that dark and windowless room. How I’d received good and hearty meals. How my clothes, my purse, my ID were all gone.

How one day, a masked man came for me.

How someone cut the tops of my breasts with a sharp blade.

The pain of the incision came back to me with a vengeance, and I had to stop talking.

“Do you need a break?” Moira asked me gently.

I shook my head. “I need to keep going. If I leave this room, I may never return.”

She nodded. “All right. Just take your time, Zee.”

“They cut me,” I said. “They said it was to lessen my advantage. They considered me worthy prey. Those were the exact words they used.”

“When you say ‘they,’” Detective Morgan interrupted, “who do you mean?”

“Derek Wolfe and the other one. The priest.”

“And by priest you mean Father James Wilkins?”

“Yes.”

“You’re sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. Why else would they have both forced me to sign a non-disclosure agreement when they paid me off?”

“As I understand it, none of this story is stated in the agreement.”

“I don’t remember.”

“Derek Wolfe would have been pretty stupid to spell out what he had done to you in any written agreement,” Morgan said. “But tell me. Why did you sign it?”

“It was the only way he’d give me the money I needed.”

“Why not go to him before then? You went five years after the incident took place.”

A lump lodged in my throat. Now his not-so-nice side was showing. His “I’m determined to pin this on one of you” side.

“Detective,” Moira said, “Ms. Jones is here of her own volition to tell you her story. This isn’t an interrogation.”

“Noted,” the detective said. “Ms. Jones?”

“What?”

“Could you answer my question, please?”

“Don’t answer,” Moira said. “It’s irrelevant.”

“It’s very relevant,” Morgan countered. “I need to make sure Ms. Jones didn’t make up this story and then threaten to go public with false allegations as a way to blackmail Mr. Wolfe into giving her money.”

Zach stood, his eyes fiery and angry. “Are you serious?”

“Calm down, Hayes,” Morgan said. “We both know it wouldn’t be the first time that a money-hungry young woman blackmailed an older man with money for her own gain. The allegations are usually false.”

Tears threatened, but I inhaled, willing them away. No way was this guy going to make me cry.